Keep It Secret
by Adalanta
Summary: COMPLETE After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason...and oaths are not easily broken. Movie verse. NO SLASH
1. UnHobbitlike Behavior

Title: Keep It Secret

Author: Adalanta

Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Characters: Pippin, Merry

Categories: Drama, Angst

Summary: After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason…and oaths are not easily broken. 

Disclaimer: Merry and Pippin are Tolkien's. 

Author's Note: The idea for this story came to me while watching ROTK, and then, well, it just sort of took over. What was meant to be a short story quickly grew. This will be four chapters in all but it is already finished, just not fully proofed yet. I'll try to post another part every two or three days. This is my first story about Merry and Pippin, so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Please feel free to email me if you like. Thanks!

Keep It Secret 

Chapter One: Un-Hobbitlike Behavior  

"Pippin!" 

The call drifted amid the sea of beige canvas, the strange, high-pitched voice standing out starkly amongst the rough, low tones of the other inhabitants who turned to watch the small being as he marched past once again. One or two of the Rohirrim smiled at the sight, while the Gondorians simply looked on with curiosity. 

"Pippin!" Merry called loudly, searching the surrounding area for his missing cousin, slipping in and about the pitched tents with surprising speed for one with such short legs. The smallest Rider of Rohan sighed, exasperated and short tempered in the mid-day sun. "Where did that rascal go? I know I told him to meet me at the cooking tent for luncheon, so where is he?  Oh, it's not like Pippin to be elsewhere when food is at stake." 

He peeked into the next tent and was literally knocked over by a Rohan horseman who had chosen that particular moment to leave. The large, blond man bent down quickly and offered the prone Halfling his hand, offering a sincere apology as he did so. "I am sorry, Master Holdwine," he said, pulling the smaller person to his feet. "I did not see you there."

Merry angrily brushed himself off, ridding his leather uniform of any lingering grass or dirt. "No harm done, I suppose," he answered tightly, mad not at the man but at the other hobbit who he felt had caused the whole incident by being absent. He looked up and tried to bring his boiling temper down to a simmer. "Just be mindful that there's other folks around here now that's not as tall as you, and one of those folks carries a rather sharp axe with him at all times."

The Man smiled and gave a light chuckle. "Yes, I would hate to anger Master Gimli. I have seen him in battle and have no wish to be on the opposite side of his blade."

"Neither would I."

With that the Man continued on his way, leaving Merry once again by himself, alone among the Big Folk and their tents. He searched down a few more rows on both sides of the eating tent, his temper increasing with each step and his mumbled words growing louder and louder. Coming to a stop in front of the large tent, he planted his feet firmly on the grass and clenched his hands into tight fists. "Pippin! Peregrin Took, where are you?!" he shouted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration, oblivious to the stares of the various Men inhabiting the nearby tents.

"I'm right here, Merry."

The puzzled voice came from his right, startling him so badly that he yelped and twisted around to glare at the younger hobbit standing so innocently beside him. "Where have you been?!" 

"Well, I – "

"Oh, never mind," he groused, interrupting Pippin before he could get more than two words out. "I'm quite hungry, no thanks to you, and I should like to eat before the food is all gone." With that, he grabbed the Took's hand and pulled him towards the open flaps of the canvas tent, only absently noting the other hobbit's wince and sharp intake of breath at the sudden movement.

Inside the tent, the two Halflings were forced to wait in line behind several Men dressed in the livery of both Gondor and Rohan, the black and silver of the soldiers mixing easily in amongst the earthy tones of the horsemen. Merry chattered on and on, talking about all manner of things – except the recent battles. That topic was skirted around quite neatly. Merry had had enough of war and battles and fighting and the horrors from them that still haunted his mind, both in the darkness of night and the brightness of day. He was so caught up in his stories and observations that he failed to notice how quiet his usually talkative companion was.

Once they had their food and had settled down at a nearby table, Merry attacked his food with normal Hobbit enthusiasm, his short legs swinging happily on the high wooden bench on which he was seated, his furry feet enjoying the sensation of sailing through the air. It was several minutes before he saw how slow Pippin was eating, a distinct and rather shocking occurrence. Frowning slightly, he watched his young cousin fumble awkwardly with his knife and fork, trying with singular determination to cut the piece of meat on his plate. Pippin chewed nervously on his lower lip, an endearing habit he'd maintained since he was only a couple of years old – and a sure sign that he was deep in concentration. So stunned was Merry that he stopped eating completely and just stared at the strange sight before him. _If I didn't know any better, I would swear he'd never used a knife and fork before in his life. Whatever is the matter with him?_ he wondered, watching as the curly head bent down even further over the table, as if being closer would make his task easier. 

Finally, after a few minutes of staring, he could stand it no longer. "Pippin," he said suddenly.

The young hobbit in question visibly started and dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter loud enough to draw a few curious stares from those nearby. He raised his green eyes to meet those of his older cousin, cheeks flushing in embarrassment over his reaction, and stuttered, "Y-yes, Merry?"

"Is something wrong?" he asked pointedly, raising his eyebrows and leaning back on the bench.

"No, of course not," Pippin answered quickly, shaking his head and sending a few errant curls onto his forehead, making him look even younger than normal. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"My own two eyes, that's what. You seem to be having a bit of trouble with your fork today, Pip." He paused for a few seconds and looked at Pippin's hands, noticing for the first time the black gloves that covered the small hands. _Ah, that must be the problem,_ he decided, nodding to himself. _The gloves are making it hard for him to eat. Well, that's solved easily enough._ "It's the gloves, isn't it?" 

"What?" Pippin blinked, "I'm not having any trouble – "

"Oh, yes, you are – and don't try to tell me anything different." Merry shook his head and sighed softly. "If your gloves are giving you such a problem, then take them off to eat."

"I – I can't do that, Merry!" His cousin protested, eyes wide, seemingly appalled at the logical suggestion.

"Well, why not?" The red and brown leather-clad hobbit looked around the tent and motioned with the fork he held in his right hand. "None of the other Men are eating with their gloves on, not even the soldiers of Gondor." Merry watched the young hobbit glance around the crowded tent, his sharp eyes lighting on all of his fellow soldiers.

Pippin turned back to Merry with an air of confidence and a strangely relieved look in his eyes. "Yes, well, that may be true, but then none of them are Guards of the Citadel, either."

"Pippin – " Merry started.

"No, Merry," he said firmly, his small face set, his Took stubbornness rising to the surface, a true force to be reckoned with. 

"But, Pip, no one will know!" he exclaimed, his raised voice drawing even more glances from the soldiers closest to them than the last time. He refused to care, though, and stared intently at Pippin.

"I'll know, Merry," the other Halfling replied softly, his grave expression accusing while the deep, green eyes appeared wounded. Before Merry could understand what was happening, Pippin had snatched the roll and apple from his plate and hopped off the bench to leave.

Merry gaped at him, too stunned by the soft answer and the strange look to speak for a long moment. "Wait! Pippin! What – " he called after his cousin, but he was too late. Pippin was already gone.

_What is wrong with him?_ he fumed inwardly, staring at the nearly full plate of food at his cousin's empty seat. _He's never left in the middle of a meal before – or for that matter, with food still left on his plate…unless he was sick. But he seems to be feeling fine! _He protested mentally._ He's not sick – I would know if he was. He can't hide something like that from me. _

But then he paused, remembering how they hadn't truly been able to spend much time with each other since they'd ridden out to the Black Gate. He shivered at the memory, the vivid images of the desperate battle and of the devastating eruption of Mount Doom flashing through his mind, bringing with them the fear, hopelessness, and sorrow that had engulfed his soul during that time. _Stop that,_ he told himself angrily._ Frodo and Sam are going to be fine. They're just sleeping, that's all. Everything's going to be fine. _Although it was hard, he managed to push the disturbing memories back into the far corner of his mind, unwilling to let them interfere with the problem that he now faced. 

It took a few seconds for him to remember what he'd been thinking about before he'd been suddenly assaulted by the troubling images. _Ah, yes. _He hadn't seen much of Pippin except for right after he'd woken up in the Houses of Healing when the young hobbit had been sitting by his side. He'd never forget the sight of his dear cousin's face, for as happy as he was to see him alive and well, he could not help but notice how terrible he had looked, his normally grinning face drawn and pale. _And his eyes…_He searched for the right word to describe what he had seen in those green depths, but could not come up with anything better than…empty. He had seemed older, too, and careworn, although Pippin had valiantly tried to hide it from him. And Merry, himself, had been too caught up in his own horrifying memories to give it much more than a brief thought. But now that he really stopped to think about it…

_And he hasn't been as talkative as usual, either. I don't think he said more than half a dozen words when we were waiting in line today. Oh, why didn't I see it before now? _He moaned silently and closed his eyes. _Pip was riding with Gandalf and I was behind Eomer when we left Minas Tirith, so it's not like we were able to talk to each other, but… I still should have noticed something was wrong. _

He opened his eyes and began to eat again, his body automatically putting the food in his mouth even though his mind was far away, thinking about the strange and decidedly un-Hobbitlike behavior of one Peregrin Took. A repetitive, metallic noise broke into his musing. 

_What is that?_ hewondered, blinking. _Where is that noise coming from?_ It took him a few seconds to realize that he was causing it. He had finished his entire luncheon without realizing it and had kept stabbing his fork onto his plate, thereby creating the odd sound. Blushing, he quickly stopped and set his fork down on the wooden table. 

Staring at Pippin's full plate in front of him, he briefly considered eating that food, too, until he remembered that his cousin had barely eaten a thing and must surely be hungry…wherever he was at the moment. Sighing, he picked up Pippin's plate and left the tent in search of the young hobbit. _I'll just take this to Pippin. He's bound to be hungry. _

He set off for the tent that he and Pippin shared on the other side of camp but then paused mid-way there. He had to talk to someone first – the only other person who might know what was going on with his friend. And that someone was Gandalf. Without another thought, he changed direction and headed back towards the middle of camp. 

TBC…


	2. At the Wizard's Tent

Title: Keep It Secret

Author: Adalanta

Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Characters: Merry, Pippin

Categories: Drama, Angst

Summary: After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason…and oaths are not easily broken. Movie verse. NO SLASH.

Disclaimer: Merry and Pippin are Tolkien's.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! Hope you like this one just as much. I love to hear what my readers think, so please take a second and leave a review. Thanks!

**Keep It Secret**

Chapter Two: At the Wizard's Tent

Merry walked up to Gandalf's tent and had just raised his hand to enter when he heard voices coming from inside. He stopped, not wanting to interrupt Gandalf if he was meeting with someone else. _It's probably Aragorn, _he thought, although he could not identify the other speaker's voice for it was too soft, almost as if it were muffled. Merry heard Gandalf's low, cultured voice reply softly and then the sound of footsteps coming towards the tent's entrance. Not wanting to be knocked over again by one of the Big Folk (his backside was still a bit sore from the last time) and not wanting to appear as if he'd been eavesdropping, the Halfling dashed around the corner of the tent and waited quietly for Gandalf's visitor to leave. His curiosity, however, soon got the best of him, and he peeked around the beige canvas to see who had been meeting with the White Wizard… and his mouth dropped wide open.

It was Pippin.

He ducked back around the corner, mouth still agape. _Why, what is Pippin doing here? _he asked himself, nearly repeating the question aloud. Carefully leaning back around the corner, he took a second, closer look at the two people standing just a short distance away. 

Pippin was standing next to Gandalf, who had his hand on the young hobbit's slender, black-clad shoulder. The Wizard's face was grave, his piercing blue eyes filled with concern as he looked down at the smaller being. "Are you sure you wish to return to your tent, Pippin?" came the gentle words. "I do not think you should be leaving just yet. You can stay here for a while, if you wish."

"No. No, I'm fine, Gandalf. Thank you." Despite their meaning, the words sounded weak and strained to Merry, his stomach clenching with worry. The Brandybuck longed to see his cousin's face, but due to the angle in which they were standing, it was quite impossible. What he could see did nothing to reassure him, though. Pippin's shoulders were slumped, and he appeared slightly unsteady on his feet. That fact was confirmed only a second later when he turned to go and staggered, nearly falling against the side of the tent! Gandalf reached out quickly and grasped the small body before he hit the ground, letting the Took lean against him for a few seconds to recover his balance.

Merry blanched as he got a good look at Pippin's face and just barely managed to keep himself from running to his cousin's side. The narrow, elf-like face was pale white and drawn, looking eerily like it had back in the Houses of Healing, and, as Merry examined it closer, he noticed that there were tear streaks, as well. Pippin's eyes were closed as he leaned heavily against Gandalf but made no attempt to hold onto the white clothes and cloak. The older hobbit's heart felt near to breaking at seeing his young cousin so sick and not being able to go to him. 

"If this is your definition of 'fine,' then I would hate to see what you deem as 'unwell," Gandalf said wryly, a small smile appearing amongst the concern that clouded his face. Kneeling down behind the unsteady body, he whispered a few words into his left ear. Merry watched, amazed, as Pippin seemed to sigh with relief and visibly straighten. 

"Now, I should not have done that, but I know that you want nothing more than to return to your own tent and rest," the Istari emphasized the last word heavily. "You have pushed yourself too hard, Peregrin Took. I know that Hobbits are hearty folk but that does not mean you are impervious to harm. If you had only done as I asked…" Gandalf's voice trailed off as Pippin finally opened his eyes and turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye now that the Wizard was on his level.

"You know I couldn't do that, Gandalf," he said reproachfully, sounding weary. 

Gandalf met his gaze steadily and held it, as if searching for something. At last, he nodded. "Yes, I know. And despite my worry, I am very proud of you, Pippin, my lad." He drew the small body to him and embraced him, although Merry noticed that Pippin did not return the gesture, something he found decidedly odd as Pippin had always felt comfortable hugging Gandalf. Gandalf, however, seemed not to mind or even to notice. "Now," he said gently, pulling away and holding the hobbit at arm's length. "I think you ought to be heading back to your tent. Remember what I told you, Pippin. Make certain that you rest and take care of yourself."

"I will, Gandalf." Pippin agreed, nodding.

"Good. Now off with you." 

Merry jerked back against the side of the tent, holding his breath as the other hobbit walked right past him and slowly moved down the row of tents. The intense fear and worry he'd felt watching his cousin had faded a bit, but not much, and as Pippin disappeared into the sea of tents, he came out of his hiding place and boldly marched into Gandalf's tent, intent on finding some answers to his questions. 

"Gandalf," he said firmly as he stalked through the tent flaps, "What is going on?" 

The tall, white clothed figure did not turn around at his arrival, keeping his back to the Halfling, and did not seem to be surprised at his abrupt appearance. He stood in front of a table that sat just beyond his cot, doing something that Merry could not see. "What do you mean?" he asked after a brief silence.

Angry and worried, the Brandybuck marched around to the other side of the table so he could look Gandalf in the face. Just as he maneuvered himself to where he could see his face, the Istari pulled a white covering over the table, obscuring the contents from the hobbit's gaze. Merry paused at that, staring intently at the covered table, and couldn't help but feel that Gandalf was hiding something from him. Looking up at the Wizard, he frowned and tried again, "What is going on?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, would you care to be more specific with your questions?" Gandalf answered evenly, meeting the hobbit's frown.

"There's something wrong with Pippin, isn't there?"

"Why do you say that?" asked the Wizard calmly.

"Will you please stop answering my questions with another question?!" Merry retorted angrily, having the irrational urge to stomp his foot like he used to as a little child. "You saw how Pippin was! Why won't you answer my question?"

Gandalf nodded to himself. "Ah…perhaps the question should be, how did you see him?"

Merry stepped back at the question and shrunk a bit under the clear, blue gaze, but his all consuming fear for his cousin overrode his sense of embarrassment and emboldened him to stand up straight and meet the piercing gaze. "I was beside your tent and accidentally saw him, but that doesn't matter right now, does it?" he said quickly, hurrying through his explanation. "Something is wrong with Pippin, and you know what that something is. And now I want to know."

The Istari sighed heavily, looking both weary and sad, and answered softly, "I am sorry, Merry, but I can not tell you."

"What does that mean?" 

"That means that this is a matter between you and Pippin. I have already pledged to him that I would not get anyone involved, just as he has made a similar pledge to me. However," he held up his hand as Merry began to protest loudly, clearly outraged by the non-answer, "At the time that we decided upon this course of action, we did not realize that it would be such a problem nor last this long." He sat down on the cot and looked over at the hobbit, his face filled with compassion and a slight hint of guilt. "If you truly wish to know, you must ask Pippin himself. But be sure to tell him I said this: 'The decision is up to you. I release you from your oath.' He will understand what that means." 

Merry shifted uneasily on his furry feet, running what he knew through his head before he spoke. "If he wants to tell me, he can. Right, Gandalf?"

"Indeed. The decision is up to him, Merry. If he is ready, then he will speak to you of this matter. If not, perhaps he will later." He sighed again. "I am sorry to have caused you such distress, Merry, but we truly thought this was the best way. I believe that you will understand, as well, once he has spoken with you." 

Silence filled the tent, the air inside suddenly growing stifled. Merry turned to leave, still beside himself with worry for Pippin, but halted with one flap lifted as Gandalf spoke up behind him. "Merry, I know that you wish to speak with Pippin immediately, but I ask that you wait a few hours before you approach him…for his sake."

The hobbit smiled a bit as he twisted around. "Don't worry, Gandalf. I'll make sure he has plenty of time to rest." With that, he left the tent and went out into the sunshine, wondering what he was going to do for the next few hours to keep his mind off of his cousin…and how he was going to be able to wait that long.

TBC…


	3. Finding a Way

Title: Keep It Secret

Author: Adalanta

Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Characters: Merry, Pippin

Categories: Drama, Angst

Summary: After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason…and oaths are not easily broken. Movie verse. NO SLASH.

Disclaimer: Merry and Pippin are Tolkien's.

Author's Note: Wow! Thank you so much to all who have reviewed thus far! I never dreamed I would get such a response. Okay. Now before you read on, be warned that this chapter has a bit of a cliff-hanger ending. Originally, this part and the last one were one big chapter, but it kept getting longer and longer, so I decided for proofing purposes to cut it in half. Sorry if this upsets anyone, but I promise the last chapter will be up in the next three or four days. Once again, please take a second to leave a review and let me know what you think. I appreciate each and every comment. Thanks!

**Keep It Secret**

Chapter Three: Finding a Way

_I don't know if I can do this._

Merry stood outside the tent he and Pippin shared, hesitant about entering – afraid of what he might learn. The last several hours since he had left Gandalf's tent had been nearly unbearable, filled with fear, concern, and an overwhelming urge to race to his cousin's side to beg, plead, or force the truth out of him. He had endured the endless time, though how he did it, he did not know. And now all he had to do was walk through the canvas flaps and into the tent.

But his large, furry feet seemed unable to move from their current place of residence…two feet from the tent's entrance.

He'd spent the whole afternoon worrying about the health of his dear cousin, but now that he was here…He wasn't sure if he could bear to learn what was wrong. _What if something serious is wrong with him? What could possibly be so bad that he can't bring himself to tell me? What if…what if Pippin was…was – _

_NO! _he shouted silently, shaking his head and sending his brown curls flying. _Don't think that! Don't ever think that! 'Bad thoughts have ways of coming true' – isn't that what Father always says? So don't be thinking those things, Meriadoc Brandybuck! Not now, when we've already been through so much!_ He forced the terrifying thought out of his mind and tried to focus on the present.

Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, he lowered his gaze to the plate of food he held in his shaking hands and immediately felt his heart go out to his cousin. _Poor Pip, _he thought sadly. _It's nearly time for dinner, and he barely ate a thing at luncheon. He must be starving! It's not right for a hobbit to go without a meal, especially one so young._ He had stopped by the eating tent on his way here only minutes ago and had begged the food from a sympathetic cook, telling him that his hobbit friend did not feel well and had not been able to eat during the noontime meal. The Man of Gondor had been easily charmed by the hobbit, a fact that Merry had previously noted …and was not ashamed to take advantage of, especially for Pippin's sake. 

Boromir had told them when they had first met in Rivendell that hobbits seemed like children in his eyes, as they had the same height and build of a nine or ten year old boy in Minas Tirith. It had taken quite a while to convince the Steward's Heir that he was not a child and was in fact considered an adult in the Shire. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Pippin, who, being a tweenager, still had several years to go before he was given adult status. And though Boromir had eventually been convinced that the hobbits were not children, he had still made a point to stay close to Merry and Pippin during their journey, just as Aragorn had stayed near to Frodo and Sam. 

Merry's eyes burned as he thought about Boromir, the hole torn in his heart by his friend's heroic death aching fiercely. How he missed the Man – his amazing patience, his staggering devotion, and his gentle, caring heart! He blinked quickly to keep the tears from falling. Now was not the time or the place to be mourning the dead. Besides, he already had Pippin to worry about.

_All right, enough of this! _he told himself firmly, taking a deep breath and then slowly letting it out. Holding the plate close to his chest, he pushed his way through the flaps and into the tent at last.

Pippin looked up at him from the other side of the tent from his seat at the table, a small smile appearing on his face at the sight of his cousin. "Hullo, Merry!"

Merry was relieved to hear that the weariness and strain had disappeared from his friend's fair voice, and as he drew closer, he was pleased to see that the drawn look had vanished as well, although he still seemed a bit paler than normal. "Hullo, Pippin!" He set the plate down on the small table and sat in the chair across from the other hobbit, smiling when Pippin's eyes widened upon seeing the heavily laden plate. "I thought I'd bring you something to eat, since you didn't eat much at luncheon."

The tweenager blushed faintly and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry I was so short with you, Merry," he apologized softly. "I don't know what came over me."

"That's all right, Pip. I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're thinking." 

"You're not?" he asked, raising his gaze from the tabletop.

"Of course not," Merry reassured him. "Here, have an apple." Grabbing a bright red apple from the heaping plate, he tossed it to his cousin – who completely missed catching it by more than a hand's length. 

Pippin immediately bent over to pick the apple off the grassy floor, mumbling apologizes and excuses the entire time. Merry frowned, only half listening to the muttered words. _How could he miss catching that? _he wondered, thinking back to all the times he and Pippin had played catch together, both indoors and out. It was rare indeed when his cousin failed to catch the ball…and never had it happened at so short a distance. 

If he was worried before, now he was downright scared. 

His frown vanished as Pippin popped up from beneath the table, holding the apple in his left hand and wiping it off on his clothes. "I can't believe I missed that. It's a good thing that none of the other cousins were here to see it. I might never have lived that down," he said and then took a small bite of the errant fruit.

Merry nodded, reaching out to grab another apple off of the plate and began to munch on it thoughtfully, watching Pippin as he did so, noticing how slowly he was eating the piece of fruit. The Brandybuck began to talk, speaking of this and that, all the while trying to draw the Took into conversation. All he got for his trouble, however, was a few one-word answers and a lot of nodding. Pippin, in the meantime, slowly polished off the apple and then moved on to a small piece of yellow cheese and a bit of brown bread. Everything he chose was a small portion, just a fraction of what a normal hobbit would eat…and much, much less than was normal for Pippin. 

Finally, the older hobbit could take no more of the silence and the odd behavior. "Pippin, are you feeling well?" he asked nonchalantly, pouring himself a cup of water and one for his cousin.

"I'm fine."

He winced at that particular phrase, remembering how horribly sick Pip had looked when he had said the exact same words to Gandalf earlier that day and had then promptly collapsed. _Well,_ he thought wryly, _at least it wasn't a one-word answer. Still…_ "Then why aren't you eating?"

Pippin shot an incredulous look at the figure seated across from him at the wooden table. "I am eating, Merry." He gestured to the apple core off to his left. "See?"

"You've hardly eaten a thing – not at luncheon and not now," he countered firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you haven't even touched your meat. Would you care to tell me why?"

"I…I don't care for the way it tastes," Pip said, looking off to the side and pulling his arms off the table, placing his hands in his lap. 

Merry watched, puzzled, as the pale face before him grew whiter. "But how do you know? You haven't even tried it today!" His frustrated words drew no response from Pippin, who refused to look at him, choosing instead to stare at the side of the tent and shift about in his seat. _All right,_ he decided after a short period of silence._ I guess I'll just have to try another way._     

"I went to see Gandalf today," he admitted, watching Pippin closely to see if his words got a reaction. They did – of a sort. The young hobbit stopped shifting about in his seat, suddenly growing very still. _Well, it's not much, but at least it's something._ Merry waited a few seconds to see if Pippin would say anything but was once again disappointed.

"I thought I would stop to see how he was doing and ask his opinion on a certain matter – see if he could shed a little light on things, so to speak." Still no response, although he could see that Pippin now appeared to be holding his breath, his black uniform doing little to hide the tenseness that held his small body rigid. _Come on, Pippin. Say something already! Don't make me have to drag whatever it is out of you. _He waited for a few moments more, but nothing happened, so in desperation, he decided to try one last time. "Gandalf gave me a message for you. He said to tell you that, 'The decision is up to you. I release you from your oath.'"

With a low gasp, Pippin's head snapped back towards Merry, his eyes wide, emotions swirling turbulently in the emerald depths. He stared wildly at his cousin, his thin face now a sickly white. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak but nothing came out. 

"Pippin," Merry began softly, yearning to learn the truth and yet afraid to push his friend too far. "I saw you there…with Gandalf…outside his tent." He paused, sighing heavily, and then continued in a voice filled with determination. "Look, I know that something's wrong…that you've been acting, well, a bit off lately. You've not been yourself, and…and I'm worried about you, Pip. Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I…I c-can't," Pippin stammered in a small, shivery voice.

"Because of what you promised Gandalf?"

"H-how – ?"

"I went in and talked to Gandalf right after you left," he explained, leaning his forearms on the table. "I asked him about you, but he refused to tell me anything…said he'd made a promise not to tell anyone else…" He glanced down at the table and then just as quickly looked up again, meeting Pippin's gaze as he finished, "…just as you had promised him. But, Pip, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Please…tell me what's wrong."

But Pippin only shook his head violently, his body visibly trembling from head to toe. Merry could plainly see the anguish and fear that rolled across the expressive face and ached to hold the younger hobbit in his arms and comfort him, but he steadfastly refused to back down now that he'd gone this far. Uttering a silent prayer, he urged him gently, "Pippin, please. You know you can tell me anything – you always have! Why is this time any different? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't," he repeated in a strained voice, head now bent over the table, the chestnut mop of curls successfully hiding his face. 

"Can't or won't?" he pressed.

"I CAN'T!" he shouted abruptly, stunning Merry, and bolted from his seat, moving quickly towards the tent's entrance. 

Without thinking, the older hobbit lunged to the side as Pippin came around the table and grabbed his cousin's right hand tightly, tugging back sharply in a desperate attempt to stop his flight. 

And he did. 

But not the way he wanted to.

TBC…

(I know – it's cruel to end right there, isn't it?)


	4. The Truth Revealed

Title: Keep It Secret

Author: Adalanta

Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Characters: Merry, Pippin

Categories: Drama, Angst

Summary: After the battle of the Black Gate, Merry begins to notice that Pippin is acting strangely and is determined to find out what is wrong with him. But secrets are kept for a reason…and oaths are not easily broken. Movie verse. NO SLASH.

Disclaimer: Merry and Pippin are Tolkien's.

Author's Note: My deepest thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate all of your comments and your encouragement. Thank you very much! Well, this is the final chapter, and all is revealed – finally. Please take a quick second to let me know what you think and if you liked the story as a whole. Enjoy! 

**Keep It Secret**

Chapter Four: The Truth Revealed

Pippin let out an agonized shriek and collapsed to the ground, cradling his right hand awkwardly in the crook of his left arm while curling his left arm around his right. 

Merry watched in shocked disbelief and horror as great, big tears squeezed out from beneath tightly clenched eyelids and rolled down cheeks that were now deathly pale. For a brief moment, the only sounds in the tent were raspy, gasping breaths interspersed with short, panicked cries as the young hobbit tried to draw in air through lungs near paralyzed by excruciating pain. Time slowed – each second frozen in time, sight and sound crystal clear in terrifying detail. 

Then, the timeless moment ended, and Merry was on his knees in the short grass, holding his beloved cousin in a firm yet cautious embrace. Pippin's head soon rested in Merry's lap, though he seemed not to realize it. Gently stroking the mass of curls with one hand, he left the other wrapped around the tweenager's stomach, all the while murmuring reassuring words to comfort the distraught hobbit. "Shhh, it's all right. It's okay. Breathe, Pip. Come on, take a deep breath. I'm here for you. Shhh, shhh. It's all right." 

Even as he continued to soothe the writhing ball of hobbit in his arms, part of his mind was busy trying to figure out what exactly had happened – _No, what I did_, he added bitterly, gorge rising up in his throat – to cause the tweenager such terrible pain. _I swear I didn't pull hard on his hand. What happened? Could I have hurt his shoulder? His elbow? Or was it hurt before? What's wrong with him?_ He wracked his mind, quickly going back over the past few days, recalling each instance of odd behavior and examining it in greater detail. 

And then he understood. It wasn't Pippin's shoulder or his elbow. 

It was his hands.

Suddenly, everything made sense: Pippin's awkward handling of his knife and fork at luncheon, his not holding on to Gandalf after he'd collapsed, why he had not returned the Wizard's hug. He had missed catching the apple, not because he could not, but because he would not – it would have been too painful for him. Merry cringed as he remembered how he had grabbed Pippin's hand and pulled him towards the tent to eat earlier that day. _No wonder he couldn't use his knife and fork! Oh, why didn't he tell me he was hurt?! I only made it worse!_

"Oh, Pip," he groaned, lowering his head, guilt welling up inside his chest like the Brandywine River during a flood. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." 

Slowly (much too slowly, in Merry's opinion), Pippin's cries changed to moans and then faded into occasional whimpers as the young hobbit's pain lessened. The panicked writhing finally stopped, and he settled down against Merry, breathing steadily except for a slight hitch now and then, the aftermath of his sobs. For a while, the older hobbit said nothing, allowing his cousin some time to calm down before he asked anything else of him. He knew more now than he had before, but there was still much he wanted to learn, not the least of which was what exactly was wrong with his hands and how it had happened in the first place. Lost in his thoughts, he continued to comfort the tweenager, the gestures so familiar to him that he hardly realized he was still doing it. At last he noticed that Pippin had grown still beneath his hands. Wondering if he'd fallen asleep after such a painful ordeal, he asked softly, "Pippin?"

A weary sigh answered him. 

He hated to ask the young Took to move when he was clearly exhausted, but he had the feeling that the conversation he intended to have might take a while. He wanted both of them to be comfortable during that time. "Ah, so you are awake," he went on as if Pippin had spoken aloud. "I hate to ask this of you, Pip, but, well, can we move to your cot? The grass is still a bit wet, you see, and soon my pants will be damp in a rather embarrassing place." 

The form in his arms shifted slightly, and a low moan filled the air as Pippin attempted to sit up on his own – a difficult task as both hands appeared too sore to be of much use. Merry quickly moved to assist and within a moment, the injured hobbit was standing, albeit rather shakily, with his cousin's help and moving towards his own bed. Merry was relieved to note the rumpled covers – certain proof that Pippin had followed Gandalf's advice and had taken time to rest upon returning to his tent. It gave a true insight into the young hobbit's condition. _He must feel truly awful to have rested in the middle of the day without someone there to keep him still. He never did like to take naps, even as a child. Too much to see and do, I suppose_, he mused_._ Helping him carefully up onto the bed, he hesitated only a second before hopping up to sit beside him on the coarse, gray blanket. 

The brief silence that followed was filled with thoughts and words formed and then quickly discarded. Once again, Merry was stumped about how to approach the matter with the small figure beside him. Pippin sat silent and still, staring down at his hands now lying palm up in his lap. Merry, too, stared at the black clad hands, and only then understood why Pip had so strongly refused to take off his gloves. 

Pippin had been using the thick gloves to hide what was wrong with his hands.

The revelation floored him. He thought back to the last time he'd seen his cousin without gloves – when they'd said their tearful goodbyes in Edoras. _Surely he hasn't been hurt for that long_, he protested, refusing to believe that he could have overlooked his cousin's suffering for so many days. "Pip?" The name sounded loud in the silence of the tent.

"Yes?" The exhausted, rough voice bore little resemblance to its normally fair tones. 

"It's your hands, isn't it?" Merry asked quietly. "Something's wrong with your hands."

This time Pippin did not answer verbally, just nodded his head a little at the question. 

Stomach twisting a bit more with each un-Pippin-like answer, Merry was forced to swallow hard before speaking again. "Can I look at them?"

Pippin gave a sort of half-laugh, a harsh noise that only drove Merry's fears to a higher level. "You are looking at them," came the sarcastic reply.

"No," he countered firmly, "All I can see now are gloves. I want to see your hands." 

The young hobbit actually blinked at that and finally turned to look Merry in the face, his green eyes striking against the bloodless skin. Pain, fear, and resignation crossed his face before he looked back down and wordlessly began to take off the black gloves. He started with the tips of his left fingers, tugging slowly at each one, and winced heavily as he pulled the material all the way off of the hand revealing a bandaged palm. Then, after taking a deep breath, he repeated the same procedure on his right hand, pale features pinched, but this time an involuntary whimper escaped between his white lips. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he gradually loosened the sable cloth from one finger and then moved on to the next, slowly working the glove off his hand. By the time he started to pull the glove over his palm, his face was beaded with sweat, and he was breathing heavily, wincing with each and every movement of the black cloth. He made a sound somewhere between a relieved gasp and a pained moan as the glove finally came off with one last determined tug.

Merry gasped at the sight before him. Pippin's right hand was almost completely swathed in bandages, the white linen wraps starting at the base of his palm and extending to the tips of his middle three fingers. "Oh, Pip!" Merry cried, unable to keep the horror from bleeding into his voice. "What happened?" 

Pippin kept his gaze on his hands, staring at them like he'd never seen them before. "They're burned, Merry," he said flatly. "I burned them."

"Burned?! What? How? When?" He sputtered, completely shocked. Burned…that was the last thing he would have guessed. "Pippin, what happened?"

"I used them to put out a fire," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Merry gaped. "Why?"

"…there was nothing else to use."

"Now, hold on a minute," Merry ordered, more confused than ever. He shook his curly head, trying to make sense of the conversation thus far and failing miserably. "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'there was nothing else to use'?"

"There was no time," Pippin answered in a distant voice, staring sightlessly at his hands. "I had to put the fire out." 

The older hobbit watched his cousin carefully, noting with alarm the absent voice and unseeing eyes. This was not the first time he'd seen someone act this way, so far removed from their body, their mind completely caught up in past events. Frodo would often appear far away when speaking about the deaths of his parents and the terrible days that had followed. Gandalf had gotten the same look when pressed about his time at Isengard as Saruman's prisoner. It had always been unnerving to say the least, but now…He was scared for Pippin. For his hands, yes, but most of all for his mind. He swallowed at the thick lump in his throat that threatened to choke him, afraid to ask the next question…and even more afraid of Pippin's answer. "Why did you have to put the fire out?" he finally asked.

"Because…he was burning."

The hushed words left Merry reeling, but Pippin wasn't quite done yet. "I thought he'd be safe once I pushed him off the pyre, but I was wrong. His clothes were on fire and the flames…they were spreading so fast." He raised his head and fixed his distant gaze on the tent in front of him. "There was no time to think. If I'd waited, he…he would have…I wasn't going to let that happen. Not to him. He'd suffered so much already…" His words trailed off.

Not certain what to say, Merry waited quietly for his young cousin to continue. The image in his mind grew more detailed with every word that was spoken, but he still didn't know who Pippin had saved, or what exactly had happened. It tore at his heart to see Pippin so withdrawn, but he knew better than to interrupt. _There are times to talk and times to listen_, he told himself, and, though it took every ounce of self-control he possessed, he remained silent.

"I…I can't…" He blinked rapidly, and a look of fear crossed his pale face. "It was so hot…and loud…the flames roaring and crackling…and the smoke so thick that I…it was hard to breathe…" 

The distant, remote attitude was gone now. Pippin grew more agitated as he went on, eyes growing wide, seeing only the terrifying, vivid memory that replayed itself before his eyes. "But he wasn't moving. He j-just lay there like…like he was – but he wasn't. He wasn't!" 

Suddenly, Pippin twisted his upper body to the right and truly looked at Merry for the first time since he'd begun to explain things, fury staining the colorless cheeks and darkening his voice. "How? How could he do that? How could anyone do that? He knew he was alive! Even now, I can't – b-believe – " Tears began to stream unheeded down Pippin's face, and he swallowed hard, visibly trembling from the emotions coursing through his small body. "How could he try to kill his own son?!" he choked out and then began to sob.  

Merry reached out and pulled his trembling cousin into his arms, holding on to him tightly, too stunned by the ghastly story to speak. Rocking the distraught hobbit back and forth, he murmured softly to him, reassuring him with his steady presence, but made no move to stop his crying. How could he when he felt his own cheeks dampen with tears? He still had no names but in his heart, somehow, he already knew, and the mere thought made him physically sick, his stomach twisting so hard that he thought it'd lose its contents. Who else could have affected Pippin this much but Faramir, brother to Boromir? He remembered the Took speaking of Faramir in glowing terms – of his bravery, loyalty, courage, and honor – and knew that he held him in as high regard as he'd held Boromir, despite the short time they'd known each other. And if what he suspected was true…Shock was not a strong enough word to describe what Merry felt. 

As the sobbing, huddled form leaning against him started to calm down, Merry finally spoke, his words hushed, forcing himself to keep an even tone. "Pippin…who was on fire?" It was important, he knew, for Pippin to say it out loud – the first step to facing and accepting what had happened. 

"Faramir," the tweenager whispered, shuddering violently. "Denethor…t-tried to burn F-faramir…alive."

_So it is true, _he moaned, closing his eyes and hugging his cousin even closer to him. He rested his head on top of Pippin's soft curls and sighed deeply, feeling nearly as weary and drained as he had when he'd woken up in Minas Tirith. Try as he might, he could not wrap his mind around all that Pippin told him. He could not understand what would drive a man to kill his son – his own flesh and blood. After a few minutes of struggling mentally, he came to a conclusion…and a simple one at that. 

There was no understanding.

_Better to leave it at that, _he decided. _No sane Hobbit would ever try to kill his child and from what I know of Men they're the same. Denethor must have been crazy. _

Moments later, Pippin repeated his thoughts aloud and in a shaky, tearful voice, slowly recounted the events of that horrible night. The telling was quite an ordeal for the small Guard of the Citadel, who had to stop several times when it became too much for him. During that time, Merry would hold him close and wait for the tears or shivering to let up.

"After it was all over, we…well, Gandalf, really, thought it best not to speak of it," Pippin sniffed, straightening up and using his left hand (which was less burned) to carefully wipe his tear-stained face with Merry's handkerchief. "We swore not to tell another person about what had happened with Faramir and – and Denethor. No one should have to live with that…knowing that your own father tried to kill you. He was so sick …I don't know how much he remembers." 

"He'll have to be told sometime, Pip. You can't hide something like this forever. He'll want to know how his father died." 

Pippin winced, the thought obviously never having occurred to him. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he nodded wordlessly and gazed down at the cot. 

Merry watched as the Took fiddled nervously with the borrowed handkerchief, the bandages covering his small hands making the movements awkward and slow. He frowned slightly upon realizing that Pippin had not yet told him about his injury other than how it had happened. "And what about your hands?"

"My hands?" he shrugged, glancing over at his cousin. "The burns aren't that bad. Gandalf took care of them after…afterwards. He thought it was a good idea to keep my gloves on, that they would help protect them more than just the bandages."

_And keep other people from noticing it,_ Merry mentally added. "Was that all Gandalf said?" he asked, remembering the White Wizard's words outside his tent earlier that day – _"If you had only done as I asked…"_ _That rascal, he's still not telling me everything._

"Well, no." The young hobbit literally squirmed on the cot for a minute before he admitted quietly, "Gandalf tried to get me to stay back in Minas Tirith – to give my hands more time to heal, he said." Pippin rushed on as Merry opened his mouth to protest. "But they didn't need it, Merry, honest! They were a bit sore, of course, but nothing bad enough to keep me from going. And besides," he added, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Gandalf was the only one who knew about it, so he was the only one who could take care of them for me, and how could he do that if he was here and I was back there?"

The Brandybuck considered that for a moment and was reluctantly forced to admit that Pip was right. Then, as he thought about, it suddenly dawned on him what Gandalf had been doing, what he'd been hiding from him. "Pippin…Is that why you went to see him after luncheon?"

Pippin nodded again. "He wanted to soak my hands in some medicine that he'd brought along and to change the bandages. He did it right before we set out, but they need to be changed every day or two. And it's, well, quite hard to do it myself, as you can imagine." 

_Ah, so that explains the tear-streaked face, and why he looked so ill when he came out of Gandalf's tent._ "Are they healing? I mean, are they going to be all right?" he asked anxiously as he picked up Pippin's right hand and examined it closely.

"They're fine, Merry," Pip said shortly, allowing his concerned cousin to look over the hand for a few seconds before carefully pulling it out of his grasp, ignoring the glare that followed. "I admit that fighting a battle with burned hands wasn't the best idea I've ever had, and yes, it did hurt – quite a lot actually. But the reason I…Well, the reason my hand hurt so badly when you grabbed it was because Gandalf had just treated them, and they tend to be quite tender for several hours after he's done. Something to do with the medicine he uses, I think. I'm not exactly sure."

"And the fighting didn't make them worse than they were?" Merry narrowed his eyes at the ensuing silence that followed the question. Crossing his arms, he stared intently at his cousin, waiting for an answer, and finally interpreted the heavy silence as an admission of guilt. "I thought so. Pip, what am I going to do with you?" 

Pippin heaved a little sigh, looking first down at his bandaged hands and then back up at Merry, his gaze more serious than ever. "I know that you're mad at me for keeping this from you, and if I was in your place, I would certainly feel the same way. But you must understand why I did it. I couldn't tell you about my hands without telling you the rest because you would have wanted to know how it had happened and…" 

He paused, his voice trailing off as he thoughtfully touched the White Tree of Gondor embroidered on his black tunic, his left fingers feeling the smooth material on his chest. "I swore an oath, Merry," he continued softly, "and I wasn't about to break it – not for myself…not even for you. I've messed up so many things since we left the Shire – The Prancing Pony, Weathertop, a-and Moria," his voice fell to a whisper at the mention of that dark, terrifying place, remembering the heartache of Gandalf's fall. He blinked quickly, but not before a single tear escaped his damp eyes and rolled down his cheek. "But not this time. This time I was going to do it right – no matter what. This was too important."  

Gazing at the young hobbit beside him, Merry felt a swell of pride rise up within him, warming his heart pleasantly like a mug of ale warms the body on a cold winter's night. "Pippin," he shook his head and instinctively hugged the sable clothed hobbit, utterly amazed by the selflessness, bravery, and loyalty he had seen. As he held the familiar form in his arms, he closed his eyes, picturing the carefree, boisterous tweenager that had left the Shire with him so many months ago, his arms laden with cabbages and carrots, his lilting voice bright and cheerful despite being chased by a furious Farmer Maggot. A part of him knew that that Pippin was gone forever, pieces of his old life scattered along the path from the green hills of the Shire to the remnants of the Black Gate…and for a long, dark moment, he grieved at the loss, his heart and soul aching fiercely.

Then the darkness lifted as he remembered who it was that he held in his arms. This new Pippin had been tempered and reshaped by the events he had gone through, but had not let it destroy him. Instead, he had grown stronger and more determined than ever, shown himself to be a dedicated soldier older and more serious than his years. It was a startling change. Not necessarily bad…just different.  

_Things will never be the way they were, _he decided, resting his chin on Pippin's soft, chestnut curls for a moment before reluctantly pulling away, _but then, why did I ever think they would? How can they, when we've changed so much?_  

Silence reigned in the tent for several minutes as each hobbit sat lost in his own thoughts. Sounds drifted into the tent from the Men outside – the lively conversations between the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan, the harsh grinding of notched weapons being resharpened, the muffled hoofbeats of a single horse walking between the rows, and the occasional snap of canvas when caught just right by the wind. They were the common, everyday sounds of a military encampment, and yet… To Merry, they were the sounds of continued life and hard-won freedom.

They were the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard.

Finally, Merry broke the silence. "Pippin…about your hands…" He paused, waiting until he had eye contact before continuing. "I wish you would have told me about it when it happened. But…I understand why you didn't. And I want you to know that, I'm very proud of you and of what you've done."

"Really, Merry?" Pippin asked, the tips of his pointed ears turning pink while his face glowed with pride, a curious mix of embarrassment and delight that was uniquely Pippin.

"Really, Pip," he nodded, and then, grinning widely, he threw a companionable arm around the thin shoulders. "Now, what are we going to do about all of that food?" He gestured to the table and the heavily laden plate that sat patiently waiting. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Do you think you're up to eating, or shall I be forced to finish all of that delicious food by myself?"

Seconds later, both hobbits were sitting at the table, cheerfully fighting over who was going to get the last apple as Merry cut the meat slices into smaller pieces that were easier for Pippin to pick up with his injured hands. Merry smiled, enjoying the sound of his cousin's voice, that melodic Tuckborough accent that he had not heard for so many days, and all the while, he wondered about what was going to happen next and what the future had in store for them.And then there was the matter of this new Pippin sitting across from him. _I'm going to have just as much fun getting to know this Pippin, as I did before when we were growing up. And one thing's for certain_, he added wryly. _With Pippin around, things are bound to be interesting._

The End


End file.
